life together
by Queen of Stuff
Summary: in which i make '80's television depressing. set in season six.


Something wasn't right.

"Al," she called from the couch, stretching her legs to the best of her ability and frowning at the cracks on the ceiling. "Al, can you come here?"

He looked at her half-heartedly from the kitchen and walked over. "Yes, Peg?"

What Al expected was a request, probably for food or a massage of some sort. Instead, he confronted with tears—actual, 'not-just-hormones' tears.

"Am I a failure?" asked Peg, her voice trembling, looking legitimately concerned.

"What? No! I mean…as what?"

"As a mother," she said after a moment of consideration.

Al inhaled. She looked at him, regretting that she had ever asked, her hands placed tentatively on either sides of her stomach. "I think," he said finally, "that you will be an excellent mother to this baby."

"But what about Bud and Kelly?"

"Um…"

It was the wrong thing to say. "I can't believe you."

"I'm just—"

"Get me off of this couch," she fumed, struggling to do so. "I'm going to bed."

"Peg. It's three in the afternoon."

"I don't care," she said, still stuck. "Now help me—"

She made a face rather abruptly and stopped. "Peg?" he asked rather cautiously. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she said, but a hand fluttered to her abdomen, and she winced. "Al, I think my—"

She gasped, bent over, knees together, her eyes enormous. Al heard a sick slapping noise as something hit the couch, and then he saw the blood. "Did this happen the other times?"

Al shook his head and helped her stand up. Her hand was like a claw, attached to his arm and staying there, shaking uncontrollably. Her breathing wasn't quite on tempo, and when he accidentally bumped her side, she cried out.

"Where's your coat?" he asked, searching around frantically. "Peg, where's your coat?"

"I don't know," she whined, her face white. She held onto the wall, and Al saw blood dripping onto the floor. "Oh my _God, Al, _I need to go to the hospital _now." _

"Okay, okay," said Al quickly, trying to contain his shock. "It's just a little blood, Peggy…here, you can wear my coat."

She accepted, and then, looking incredibly drained, she took his arm and he led her to the car, the whole time cut into interludes with her whispering "Je_sus_" in a frantic manner.

"Wait! What about Bud and—"

"They'll figure it out."

It took three tries to put the key into the ignition, and he cursed when he say the snowflakes, small and delicate, falling in the infinity.

The hospital was only two miles away, but the traffic was terrible, and the person behind them was so close he wanted to scream. "Peg, look," he said, turning to her. "I think we might be here for a while. Do you think that you can handle that?"

Her eyes were squeezed shut, her posture rigid, her hands fists. She muttered something.

"What?"

"_Speed_," she hissed, and when she opened her eyes, she was crying.

Al inhaled deeply and pressed his foot on the gas pedal.

Horns were honked. Bumps were hit. Ultimately, however, they made it to the hospital, and when they walked in, Peg collapsed.

"Peg, what—"

She made an animalistic sound, eyes wide, trying to stabilize herself, but failing, blood flowing at a radical rate. A nurse noticed and walked over, nervous. "Ma'am? You need to go to the maternity ward, like, now."

"Yeah," said Al, awkwardly standing there as a horde of nurses emerged. "Where's the waiting room?"

"Sir, you'd better come with us," said a slightly more assertive nurse, and he gulped.

Peg interrupted his thoughts. "Al, she gasped, totally weakened, not looking like she had ever. "Please.

There was something about her being pathetic that made her cute.

Almost.

"Fine," he muttered, following the wheelchair down the hallways, horribly aware of the blood droplets on the floor. He turned to the nurse. "Is it…is it usually like this?"

She looked at him like he was stupid, then with sympathy. "No," she said. "I…I can't be sure, but—"

They turned into a small room, and Peg was hooked up to a small army of machines, groaning all the while. She looked strangely terrified, her face contorted into a mask of pain.

A doctor came in, wearing all white. _But there's so much blood,_ thought Al. _Won't you get—oh my God. _

"Hello, Peg!" said the doctor cheerily, contrasting far too much. Al wanted to slap him. "And you must be Mr. Bundy?"

Peg moaned, her leg muscles tight. The doctor wrote something down and put his hands on her stomach. He looked under her dress.

"You're only at seven centimeters, so—"

He paused and stared at a monitor, frowning. "Well, this complicates things," he said.

"What complicates things?" asked Al, still wanting to punch the doctor in the throat.

The doctor ignored him entirely and looked at a nurse. "Why didn't you tell me there wasn't a heartbeat?"

"What?"

"Look," said the doctor, pointing it out. "Nothing. Peg, I'm so sorry."

She didn't hear him. She was breathing heavily, sweat collecting on her forehead, and she cried out.

"Doctor, _now,"_ said the nurse after taking a quick check under the dress. ""What—"

"Al?" asked Peg, barely taking time to breathe. She looked ready to have a monologue, but then, her expression got all messed up, and she grasped on to his hand, bearing down and biting her lip until it bled. Words were said, but he really couldn't hear anything but her ragged breathing and moaning.

"—ten centimeters—"

"_Fuck,"_ groaned Peg, her legs spread, squeezing his hand. "I want…to name her…"

"You're doing great," said the doctor, his gloved hands touching and prodding out of Al's sight. "I can see the head. The baby has a lot of hair."

According to Peg, there had been drugs the other times—painkillers that had knocked her out for weeks.

"Oh-my-_God_," said Peg, almost in a scream, tears streaming down her face. Al wanted to say something—anything—but she was too into it, too distracted by her work. "_Jesus." _

"Push, Peg," said the doctor.

She cried.

"Push."

There was a ripping noise, and the doctor stepped away, holding something in his hands. Peg looked up, exasperated, a slight smile curved upon her mouth, and suddenly, the worst struck Al—_she didn't know. _

"It's a girl," said the doctor, not looking at them.

Peg started unbuttoning her dress, and a nurse put a hand on her arm. "That isn't necessary, honey."

"Why?" asked Peg, feeling the wrongness of the situation. "Why isn't she crying? Al? Why isn't she crying?"

Al looked away, but he heard every word.

"Ma'am, we couldn't detect a heartbeat."

"So?"

A sigh. "You had a stillborn."

He looked. He had to.

Her mouth was a perfect 'O', a silent scream, and suddenly, there was the agonizing chord of loss.

The nurse's eyes met his, and he couldn't look away from the blueness, not even at his sobbing wife, who was holding her face in her hands.


End file.
